


sing you what i feel in my soul

by iwadimples



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, Idol AU, M/M, Some pining, bodyguard! iwaizumi, bodyguard! sakusa, brief domestic moments, idol!atsumu, idol!oikawa, just two idiots in love, rated T for language and sakusa has some aggressive thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26537944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwadimples/pseuds/iwadimples
Summary: Miya Atsumu is (unfortunately) an attractive and talented idol who likes to make out with strangers at clubs to (attempt) to forget his crush. Sakusa Kiyoomi is his bodyguard, and utterly in love.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, minor IwaOi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 311
Collections: My favorite haikyuu fics





	sing you what i feel in my soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [O7KAWA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/O7KAWA/gifts).



> This is a special gift to my soulmate! Happy birthday, I love you so much, you deserve all the happiness and wonderful things in the world and I hope your day is as special as you are! ♥︎
> 
> Also! Inspired by this amazing [artwork](https://twitter.com/anta_baka00/status/1274264559520382976?s=21) on twt, give it some love and support!
> 
> Disclaimer: there is no singing or preforming in this fic and this went completely off course from what I had originally planned rip

Miya Atsumu was a brat.

A self-centered, arrogant, reckless, talented and stupidly hot brat. The boisterous asshole knew he was good looking, knew he was talented, knew that he was, unfortunately, hot shit. He said what he wanted, did what he wanted, didn’t give a shit about the hell storm his management had to go through for damage control. His songs were either lewd or riddled with insults, some more obvious and targeted than others. And he dragged Kiyoomi  _everywhere_ . He didn’t give a shit what time it was, how far out they were going, whether it was inconvenient for his bodyguard. Miya Atsumu lived the way he wanted, without regards to anyone else around him.

And yet, despite his streak of being an absolute piece of shit, Atsumu could still be considerate. Upon learning that filth made Kiyoomi uncomfortable, he had started frequenting filthy bars a little less. He never made Kiyoomi touch anything if it was even marginally dirty, had even started to clean his apartment more because of how often Kiyoomi visited. Atsumu dropped everything for his twin, Osamu, even if he was in the middle of an important concert, or even if they were in an ugly fight. He never pushed anyone into situations that made them truly uncomfortable. (Unless they had wronged him in some way, in which case they could burn in hell for all he cared, but that was a different circumstance that Kiyoomi didn’t blame him for at all.) He respected his fans and listened to them, though maybe that was made easier thanks to the more mature audience his explicit music attracted.

And Kiyoomi? Well, Kiyoomi was certifiably and undeniably fucked. Completely head over heels for the bastard. Atsumu was piece of shit, but so was Kiyoomi, and the perfect thing about them was that they could be their true, complete asshole-selves around each other without judgement. And it was nice, Kiyoomi hated to admit.

“You should tell him.”

Kiyoomi almost,  _almost_ startled at the gruff voice that snapped him from his thoughts. He peeled his gaze away from where it had gone unfocused staring at Atsumu long enough to glance at his fellow bodyguard of a different idol, Iwaizumi Hajime, before promptly returning to the subject of his turmoil. “What?” He asked, because while he had heard the man, he hadn’t really registered the statement. 

Iwaizumi snorted, aware just how far gone in his thoughts Kiyoomi had been. He crossed his arms over his chest, the two leaning against a bare wall of the club made for celebrities and the higher social society that their respective idols loved to patron so frequently. “I said, you should tell him. How you feel.”

Kiyoomi pulled a face, nose scrunching in distaste. “No.”

Iwaizumi cocked an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t need his pompous ass holding it over my head.” Kiyoomi replied. “He’s enough of a brat already. Just think what he’d do if he found out I  _liked_ him.” 

“You make it sound like he doesn’t return your feelings and would use them to make your life hell.”

“Because he doesn’t and he would.”

Iwaizumi clicked his tongue and shook his head. “You don’t know that.”

“I’d prefer assuming the worst than having to face it.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Kiyoomi sighed. He liked Iwaizumi, he really did, he was a rare person whose company he could enjoy with his dry humor and bite-less insults, but he did  _not_ feel like having this conversation. “I appreciate the support, but not all of us are lucky enough to be the physical representation of the soulmates and childhood best friends to lovers trope.” A pointed look to Oikawa Tooru, who was sitting with Atsumu and probably getting drunk off his ass. 

Iwaizumi spluttered for a moment, cheeks flushing a rosy tinge, made more prominent under the dim lights of the club. He was staring at Oikawa, too, half exasperation because he would most definitely have to drag the overgrown idiot home, and half adoration that always seemed to be present whenever he so much as thought of of his singer boyfriend. “I- well- I mean-“

Kiyoomi snorted, a small, delicate sound, waiting for his friend to form coherent thought. Eventually, after a good five minutes of stuttering, Iwaizumi finally settled with a sigh. “Obviously Tooru and I are a rare stroke of fortune, but that doesn’t mean you and Atsumu are completely impossible. In fact, with the way he’s staring at you, I’d say the attraction goes both ways.”

Kiyoomi chanced a look back at Atsumu, and indeed, he found the bleached-dyed blonde already staring at him with an intensity Kiyoomi’s heart stumbled under.

There was a pretty girl in Atsumu’s lap, smearing her most likely overpriced vibrant red lipstick all over him, his hands rested firmly against the curve of her hips, her scantly dressed body pressed up against his. She probably had a beautiful face, in the way most women found in this scene were beautiful, which was composed of plastic and makeup, probably had sultry sweet voice because Atsumu loathed when a person’s voice was pitched too high. And yet, Atsumu’s attention wasn’t on the warm body all over him. It was on Kiyoomi. Boring holes into him, as if Atsumu was trying to send some kind of message. Like that it was Kiyoomi’s body that he really wanted to roam his hands all over, whose smooth, soft pink lips free of makeup were the ones he wanted to claim.

Kiyoomi shivered. If only that were the case. He wondered what was going through Atsumu’s mind right in that moment, wondered if he knew what the light touches and lingering gazes did to Kiyoomi in their everyday interactions.

“You’re drooling, Omi-chan,” a lilted voice sang.

Once again, Kiyoomi was jerked from his thoughts. He quickly wiped furiously at his mouth, only for his hand to come back dry. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at the bubbly presence he somehow managed to miss sneaking up on him. “Fuck off.”

Iwaizumi was Kiyoomi’s friend. He  _liked_ talking to Iwaizumi. Enjoyed his presence. Kiyoomi could not say the same for Oikawa. (He actually could, because when it came down it, Oikawa  was a nice person and a good friend who knew when to be serious, but in times like these, when he was being flippant and teasing, Kiyoomi could readily say that yes, he could very easily chuck the brunette off of a cliff.)

Oikawa pouted, tutting with a shake of his head. “So crude!” He turned to Iwaizumi, grinning goofily as he hung off of his boyfriend. “Is being grumpy and vulgar a requirement for being a bodyguard?” He sighed dramatically. “What ever are Atsum and I going to do with you?”

“Not be mobbed by psychotic fans,” Iwaizumi replied dryly as he rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around to support his drunk boyfriend. “Or be harassed when you idiots drink beyond oblivion at shady clubs.”

“Rude, Iwachan! This club is  _not_ shady!” Oikawa pouted pointedly, ever the obnoxious brat when drunk (yet somehow able to form coherent thought and sentences). “You wouldn’t let me within ten meters of this place if it was.”

“That wasn’t the point,” Iwaizumi grumbled.

Oikawa giggled, leaning down to place a big, sloppy kiss on Iwaizumi, to which the latter pretended to be disgusted by. “Love you, Iwachan. Let’s go home now.” He didn’t give Iwaizumi a chance to respond before he was striding off, leaving the exasperated boyfriend and bodyguard to scramble to follow after, shouting a “See you later!” to Kiyoomi as he left.

Kiyoomi didn’t bother with a response, knowing Iwaizumi was long gone. He shook his head to himself, grateful they had left. He was happy they had each other, really, he was, but sometimes their sappy domestically was too much for him. Especially with his heartache over a certain shitty blonde.

Speaking of shitty blondes, Kiyoomi now realized he had no sight of Atsumu, and groaned inwardly to himself. Honestly, with how distracted he was tonight, he was amazed at his ability to keep a job as a bodyguard, and a personal bodyguard at that. 

Sighing to himself, he peeled off the wall, pulling a face as he was forced to maneuver his way through the crowded club in search of Atsumu.

He marveled at his ability to move freely through the crowd. A few years ago, Kiyoomi wouldn’t have been able to do something like this. He had been so terrified of germs and contamination before, wary of even breathing the same air as others. But he’d progressed past that, had pushed himself and trained and now, he wasn’t as twitchy as he used to be. He could stand in crowds, could be physical and push them away if he needed to when they got too close to Atsumu, could  _touch_ things even if he hadn’t wiped them down several times with cleansing wipes, hell, could even go out without his face mask (though he often still did use it, because even an average non-germaphobe knew the merits of wearing a mask; it had the potential to stop global pandemics from spreading and becoming worse, if one were to ever happen.) And honestly, Kiyoomi was pretty proud of himself for that. Years ago, if you had asked him, he never would’ve imagined himself as a bodyguard, but here he was, working an occupation that required physical interaction with big crowds, and he was doing just fine.

Along his way to the bathroom, where Kiyoomi highly suspected Atsumu to be, he noticed the soft black curls of the girl who had been in Atsumu’s lap earlier, a wave of relief washing over him (not that he would admit that). It meant Atsumu was possibly still here, and hadn’t run off with a one-night stand without telling Kiyoomi. (Which he had done before. Kiyoomi was pissed, to say the least, and not just because of burning jealousy. Protecting Atsumu was his  _job_ , and if that selfish, pompous little shit ever ran off without Kiyoomi’s awareness again, Kiyoomi swore he was going to take a ten meter pole and shove right up Atsumu’s spoiled, stinking ass.)

Eventually, and unsurprisingly, Kiyoomi found Atsumu bowled over a toilet, puking his guts out. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, leaning against the door with his arms crossed. “You should stop drinking so much,” he stated by way of greeting.

Atsumu blinked, his retching stopping long enough for him to throw Kiyoomi a shit-eating grin. “Omi-kun! I was wondering when you’d come looking for me-“ his cocky reply was cut short as he quickly spun around to empty more of his stomach.

Kiyoomi’s face scrunched in disgust. Germaphobe or not, puking was revolting. Especially during a conversation. “Quit disappearing to hurl your guts up after drinking so much when you know you’re a damn light weight and I wouldn’t have to come looking for you.”

Atsumu just flashed him another troublesome smirk, the effect lost as he reached up to flush, stomach apparently settled enough for him to wash his mouth out at the sink. It was truly an undignified sight, and Atsumu was lucky there was no one to see him at his nightly lows.

Kiyoomi didn’t receive a verbal response as this happened, and he couldn’t complain. Honestly, he’d probably punch Atsumu for whatever he said, because he was in one of those done-with-Atsumu’s-shit moods, even though they hadn’t actually interacted that much tonight. Maybe it was just Atsumu himself and that particular mood was a default for anyone who had to deal with him. He knew Osamu often felt that way. So did Osamu’s boyfriend and Atsumu’s makeup artist, Suna Rintarou. So did childhood friend of the Miya twins and producer at Inarizaki Records, Aran Ojiro. Kita Shinsuke, Atsumu’s manager, was definitely in a constant state of that. Yeah, it must just be an Atsumu Syndrome.

When Atsumu did speak again, it threw Kiyoomi completely off kilter. “Maybe if someone opened their eyes and realized what was right in front of them, I wouldn’t feel the need to drown out my feelin’s with distractions.”

“ _What_ .” Kiyoomi snapped, because what the fuck did that mean, and did it mean what he wanted it to?

But he wouldn’t be getting further elaboration, not that night anyway, because not even a second later, Atsumu was out cold. Kiyoomi groaned, loudly, glaring as hard as he could at Atsumu, as if he could wake him up by will alone or stare hard enough to burn a hole right through him. Either option sounded nice at the moment, but Kiyoomi knew neither would happen, and he sighed, rather dramatically, resigned to the fact that he’d be lugging Atsumu’s heavy ass all the way back to the idol’s apartment. He really, really hated Atsumu.

⤠ ꕥ ⤟

When Atsumu awoke, it was with a pounding headache and sunlight shining directly in his eyes. He groaned, rolling over and throwing the pillow over his head, vaguely registering the silk sheets of his own bed. Leave it to Kiyoomi to be nice enough to bring him home, but bitter enough to open Atsumu’s curtains so he woke up to blinding light.

Now awake, Atsumu figured he might as well get ready for the day. He was pretty sure he had some items on his agenda. Sure enough, when he finally pulled the pillow off his head and turned to his nightstand— thankfully on the opposite side of the window— there was a glass of water, some painkillers, and a note that read,  _ Drink this, asshole, and get your ass up. We have places to be today . _

Atsumu chuckled to himself, swallowing the pills and downing the glass, still slightly chilled, which meant it hadn’t been placed on his table too long ago. It was amazing to Atsumu; Sakusa Kiyoomi really was an anomaly: sometimes he could be the meanest, coldest bastard you ever knew, and other times he was as sweet and doting as an old granny, in his own ways.

Atsumu dragged himself out of his bed, wincing at the coldness of his floor. He pulled a face at finding himself still in yesterday’s attire and quickly changed into just sweatpants. When he opened the door to his bedroom, he was hit with the inviting aroma of a delicious breakfast.

Atsumu’s face lit up and he hurried towards the kitchen, finding none other than Kiyoomi preparing food. “My, my, Omi-kun! To what do I owe the pleasure of wakin’ up to yer cookin’?”

Kiyoomi looked up from where he had been spooning rice into a bowl and glared, hard, and oh, Atsumu was in  so much trouble for last night. The suspicion was proven correct when Kiyoomi laid the dishes out on the counter, pointed, and simply said, “Eat,” in the flattest tone possible.

Atsumu, knowing when to push his luck and also starving, obeyed without fighting. A few chews and moments of silence later, Atsumu finally raised enough bravado to speak. “So, Omi-kun—“

“You have an interview at eight, a photoshoot at ten, a lunch break at twelve with Oikawa if you accept his invitation, a press conference at two so you can  _apologize_ for the shit you said about Terushima Yuuji and his crew on national television the other day, a dinner meeting with Osamu at five, and another interview at nine.”

Atsumu flinched at the harsh tone Kiyoomi was using. Oh, he was  pissed . Still, Atsumu had enough gall to  pout at him. “Teru-kun deserved what I said and ya know that. He’s a piece of shit. Even  I know how to respect people when they say no. He and his crew are a bunch of fakes and that dye job he has is absolutely atrocious.”

Kiyoomi cocked an unamused brow, deciding not to comment on the (literally) piss poor blonde Atsumu had dyed his hair during his debut, before Kiyoomi had been appointed his bodyguard. “I don’t give a fuck if they did deserve it. As much as they had it coming, you didn’t need to humiliate them so publicly. You put Kita through so much hell trying to clean up your messes it’s amazing he’s still tolerating being your manager.” Truth be told, Kiyoomi wasn’t entirely sure why they were focusing on  _this_ subject specifically, he truly did not give a shit and honestly agreed with everything Atsumu had said, though his tirade of petty insults was probably unnecessary.

Atsumu waved a hand. “Kita-San is perfect at his job. At this point I think cleanin’ up my messes has become a part of his routine and ya know how he is about routine.”

Kiyoomi snorted and rolled his eyes. It was amazing they hadn’t rolled right out of their sockets yet. “Whatever.” He really, truly, did notcare about this conversation. There was actually another conversation he was more concerned about, one that he wanted to have about what Atsumu had said last night, but while the idol was a lightweight, he was also the type who didn’t remember shit about what he did while under the influence. And that was extremely frustrating.

Atsumu was not having it, however. He hated getting the cold shoulder from his bodyguard. “Omi-kun,” he whined. “Don’t be so cold towards yer favorite idol.”

“You’re far from my favorite,” was Kiyoomi’s automatic retort, even if it was a blatant lie. Not only did he  like  Atsumu, in more than one context, but he actually did enjoy listening to his music, despite how crude it could be at times. Actually, he liked the crude theme, a lot more than he liked the princess bubblegum pop most idol groups were doing nowadays. And he knew firsthand that all of Atsumu, from his music to his persona, was completely, one hundred percent genuine. Well, maybe he was told to play a little nicer than he’d actually be in some situations, like today with the press conference, but Kiyoomi knew Atsumu would sneak some malicious comment in and not even Kita would be able to do anything about it, and Kiyoomi honestly couldn’t blame him for that bit of cynical realism. In fact, if, and that was a ginormous and very unlikely if, he were to ever be an idol, he’d probably be just like Atsumu, in music style and public persona, if not even more blatant. Not that Atsumu needed to know that.

Kiyoomi’s less than enthusiastic response earned another offended whine from Atsumu, much to his mixed annoyance and endearment. “ _Omi-kun_ .”

Kiyoomi was going to lose it if Atsumu kept whining his name in that tone. He needed to change the subject fast. Luckily for him, Atsumu was done eating, so he picked up the dishes and dumped them in the sink for later. “Dumbass, get moving. You have a full schedule to attend to.” He pushed Atsumu towards the bathroom with difficulty, what with the idol still whining and physically resisting. Eventually though, Atsumu disappeared behind the door to  finally prep for the day.

Kiyoomi sighed to himself, strolling back towards the living room to wait, mind still preoccupied with last night. Today was going to be a long day.

⤠ ꕥ ⤟

It was only lunch, and yet, the day felt like it had dragged on for an eternity. Kiyoomi couldn’t focus, all he could think about was what Atsumu had said. 

Maybe if someone opened their eyes and realized what was right in front of them, I wouldn’t feel the need to drown out my feelin’s with distractions.

Kiyoomi had hoped, he really had, that Atsumu had meant him. That maybe, just maybe, Atsumu could possibly possess even an inkling of what Kiyoomi felt for him, and maybe they were both blind idiots who didn’t realize their feelings were reciprocated. Atsumu had looked at him with such burning conviction that Kiyoomi had hoped and convinced himself there was no other explanation.

But then, Kiyoomi had been watching his idol closely all day, scrutinizing every minute detail, but Atsumu acted no different than he usually did. Sure, they shared looks sometimes, looks that lingered probably more than they needed to, and sometimes Atsumu even gave him  that smile . But there was never anything solid. Never anything that said for sure,  hey Omi-kun, I’m in love with ya, please return my affections .

Kiyoomi’s own self doubts weren’t helping. At one point he had thought that maybe Atsumu’s stare hadn’t been so accusatory and intense at Kiyoomi himself, but rather in thought of whoever held Atsumu’s affections. But then his hopeful and pessimistic side kept warring with each other, and he decided to just give up that train of thought entirely. However, his optimistic side was clearly still fighting, since he was still here, suffering internally as he worried over it.

_Your pining is especially strong today._

Kiyoomi blinked at the text on his phone screen. He looked up at Iwaizumi, raising a questioning eyebrow. Iwaizumi’s gaze cut to Oikawa and Atsumu, lost in conversation next to them over their food, then back, to say that he was texting Kiyoomi in respect for his confidentiality.

Kiyoomi sighed. He couldn’t get out of this one.

_Iwaizumi: so, is there a reason you’re especially lovesvtruck today?_

_Me: yes._

_Iwaizumi: care to share with the class?_

_Me: not really_

_Iwaizumi: i think you do_

_Iwaizumi: if nothing else, it’ll help you feel better, getting it off your chest_

_Me: and what are you? a mind reader?_

_Me: maybe it won’t make me feel better talking about_

_Iwaizumi: i mean it’s up to you_

_Iwaizumi: i definitely won’t pressure you_

_Iwaizumi: but you seem like you really want a third opinion_

_Me: can you not be so good at reading me? im not oikawa_

Iwaizumi chuckled aloud at that, though luckily didn’t garner the attention of their idols... who were currently shit talking other idols very passionately. Alright.

_Iwaizumi: contrary to popular belief, i am pretty perceptive_

_Me: yeah and I don’t appreciate that_

This earned another laugh.

Iwaizumi: you gonna quit stalling and talk or should we make these two shut up before they end up having to apologize publicly again, which we both know they hate doing?

_Me: fine I’ll talk_

_Me: Miya can suffer_

_Me: i guess im still just hung over my feelings_

_Me: Miya said something yesterday before he passed out_

_Me: it made me think that maybe there was a chance he reciprocated how i feel_

_Me: but it was so general that he might not have meant me_

_Me: i suppose it doesn’t matter if he did mean me, what would we do if we do find out we like each other?_

_Iwaizumi: this is just an idea, but date maybe?_

_Me: the sarcasm wasn’t needed_

_Iwaizumi: glad you picked up on it_

_Iwaizumi: but seriously, i’m telling you, he returns your feelings_

_Iwaizumi: we both know i’m the emotionally intelligent one, so i really think it’s in your best interests to listen_

_Me: I don’t know..._

_Me: and even if we did like each other, what if Miya doesn’t want to date because he’s an idol and I’m just a bodyguard?_

_Iwaizumi: Seriously? Just look at me and Oikawa. We’re doing fine. And don’t say any of the bullshit_ _excuses of us being childhood soulmates._

_Iwaizumi: Talk. To. Him. You don’t even need to jump into a relationship if you’re worried about it. Just clearing your feelings will make you feel a lot better._

“And what’re the two of ya gossiping about?” Atsumu’s voice startled Kiyoomi, causing the latter to jump and slam his phone face down.

“Nothing.”

Atsumu’s eyebrows rose curiously. “Aw, don’t be keepin’ secrets now, Omi-kun! Come on, ya can tell Atsumu-san and Oik-kun!”

“No thanks.” Kiyoomi deadpanned.

“Aw! Iwa-kun, ya care to share with the class?”

“Nope,” Iwaizumi answered.

Both idols pouted childishly, and their bodyguards exchanged an unimpressed look.

“Iwachan! Don’t you two want to satisfy the curiosity of your darling idols?” Oikawa cranked up his doe-eyed look as he threw his arms around his boyfriend, jutting out his bottom lip innocently as he snuck to try and see what was on the screen of Iwaizumi’s phone.

“There’s nothing darling about you,” Iwaizumi snorted as he shoved Oikawa away with a palm to the face while simultaneously shutting off his phone, “And it’s none of your business, Shittykawa.”

“Iwachan! You’re so mean!” Oikawa wailed dramatically, draping himself across Iwaizumi’s lap instead.

“Boohoo.” And yet, Iwaizumi started carding his hand affectionately through Oikawa’s soft waves.

“Yer so gross,” Atsumu scrunched his nose up. “Disgustingly domestic.”

“Jealousy isn’t a pretty color, Atsum!” Oikawa sang, a finger pointing up over the table at the blonde. “Maybe if you grew some balls and-“

Atsumu threw a left-over piece of meat at Oikawa’s hand, effectively shutting him up on his prior subject in lieu of scolding Atsumu for the offensive action. Kiyoomi wished he hadn’t, because now he was curious as to what Oikawa was going to say next, but he was so focused on Iwaizumi’s face, which said he knew exactly what Oikawa was going to say next, that he completely missed the worried glance sent his way from Atsumu.

A notification on Iwaizumi’s phone went off, and he sighed after reading what was across the screen. “Alright, Oikawa, it’s time to go. You’ve got a photoshoot we need to get to.”

“Ah yes that’s right! For Vivi!” Oikawa gasped in excitement, shooting straight up and just narrowly missing nailing Iwaizumi in the jaw. He jumped to his feet, grinning sunnily and flashing his signature peace sign. “It was wonderful catching up with you, Atsum, Omi-chan!” 

“You literally just saw them last night,” Iwaizumi muttered as he too stood and collected their things.

Oikawa ignored his comment. “Let’s do this again sometime soon! Later!” And then he was turning and bounding towards the exit. 

Iwaizumi sighed and shook his head in his usual mix of exasperation and adoration that made Kiyoomi want to gag. Iwaizumi offered them both a smile, the charming, beautiful smile that had earned him a million fans overnight without him even trying, giving a subtle pointed look at Atsumu for Kiyoomi that said  talk , before he was bidding goodbye with a small wave and following after his lover. 

Kiyoomi sighed and supposed Iwaizumi was right. He would wait until tonight though, after everything on Atsumu’s schedule. That way, if things went horribly wrong, he could just resign and possibly become someone else’s bodyguard. That Akaashi Keiji seemed like a good change of scenery, and he was already taken by fellow idol, Bokuto Kotarou. He sent Iwaizumi a simple “ _thank you_ ” text for their heart to heart before turning to Atsumu, only to find the idol already staring at him with an unreadable look.

“What?” Kiyoomi asked.

Atsumu broke the eye contact they had made when Kiyoomi had turned to face him, looking down at their food still in front of them. “We don’t have ta be anywhere, right?”

Kiyoomi nodded. “You don’t have to be at the press conference for an hour. Why?”

Atsumu shrugged, leaning back. “Just wonderin’. I kinda just wanted to stay here for a lil’ while longer. Ya don’t mind, do ya?”

“I don’t see why it matters, you never care if I mind or not,” Kiyoomi retorted but settled in his seat anyway. “But no, I don’t mind.”

The smallest smile quirked Atsumu’s mouth, and Kiyoomi eyed it curiously. “Good,” was all Atsumu said.

⤠ ꕥ ⤟

It was obvious there was something Kiyoomi wanted to talk about when they returned to Atsumu’s apartment that night. Kiyoomi knew he wasn’t being subtle. His hands were fiddling together like they tended to do when he was nervous, and he knew his eyebrows were scrunched together in that preoccupied way of his.

Atsumu finally caved to his curiosity, pressing his finger right on the crease in-between Kiyoomi’s brows in an attempt to smooth the furrow out. “Ya gonna tell me what’s been botherin’ ya all day, now?” He questioned, flopping down onto his couch. Kiyoomi’s eyebrows only furrowed more, and Atsumu laughed. ”Course I noticed, Omi. We’ve been workin’ together how long now? Once ya get past those walls of yers and learn yer tricks and tells, ya ain’t hard to read.”

“I see...” Kiyoomi frowned. He didn’t realize Atsumu read him so easily. What else did he notice?

“I can read ya pretty good, but I’m not a mind reader,” Atsumu said, completely disproving his statement. He patted the seat next to him. “Come on, talk to the great Atsumu-San.”

Kiyoomi snorted, the tension in his forehead slowly dispersing. “I don’t think your regular meetup with Osamu humbled you enough this time around.”

“Hey!” Atsumu protested. “Rude, Omi-kun. Ya know ya love me.”

Kiyoomi made a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement. Atsumu frowned and sat up straight, looking at him with concern. Kiyoomi couldn’t blame him for the sudden alertness; usually he just flat out denied the sentiment. 

“Omi, ya know I won’t judge ya.”

“I know.” And he did. Atsumu was a judgmental ass who didn’t know how to hold his tongue, comments often earning him being called a big fat jerk, and Kiyoomi wasn’t too different, often being called a too blunt jerk, and yet, somehow, they had found some kind of understanding in their silver-tongued ways, a kind of equilibrium with each other. They snapped and bickered at each other, but when it really mattered, they could talk to each other and know that they would be listened to with a sympathetic ear. They knew, that even if the other made some kind of comment, it was an honest opinion without condemnation.

So why was Kiyoomi hesitating? Deep, deep down, way past his cynicism, he knew that if Atsumu didn’t return his feelings that the idol wouldn’t be an asshole about it. He’d probably tease, make some kind of remark on how he’d gotten  the Sakusa Kiyoomi fall for him of all people, but after the initial teasing, he’d be respectful. He wouldn’t hold it against Kiyoomi, wouldn’t hold it over his head as something to constantly rub in his face.

And on the other side of that, there was Iwaizumi, encouraging Kiyoomi to pursue this, assuring him that his feelings went both ways. And the guy  was perceptive  and emotionally intelligent. Kiyoomi highly doubted Iwaizumi would be so adamant unless he knew for sure, or close enough to sure. And Kiyoomi had been thinking about this all day. Longer, in fact, and Iwaizumi was right, if anything else, at least clearing the air would make him feel lighter.

Little did Kiyoomi know, Atsumu had been doing a lot of thinking and talking, too. With Oikawa. Oikawa, who was even more perceptive than Iwaizumi, and who knew that Kiyoomi was just as madly in love with Atsumu as Atsumu was with him. It was what they had been talking about at the club, Oikawa encouraging Atsumu to take the risk, until Atsumu inevitably tried to get handsy with a warm body that was looking for company too in an attempt to feel something. Of course, it hadn’t worked, just like it never worked, because the only person who held his interests was Kiyoomi. 

It had plagued his mind this morning when he woke up and found Kiyoomi, despite the shit Atsumu had given him last night, in his kitchen, making breakfast for him and had found the time somewhere to even get Atsumu some painkillers and water. It plagued him all day, with the extra heavy gaze he could sometimes feel but forced himself not to react to, just in case Kiyoomi didn’t want Atsumu to realize he was staring. And then today at lunch, it took up the bulk of his and Oikawa’s conversation, in code of course, though luckily, their bodyguards had been too engrossed in their own conversation to overhear.

And now, sitting here, watching Kiyoomi fidget and try to form both words and the resolve to voice said words, Atsumu was hit with a sudden wave of confidence. Oikawa had been encouraging him for so long now, practically begged him at lunch to just confess before he died from the unresolved tension between them. And Atsumu never held his tongue, so why start now? Nor was he a coward. So, gathering all of the confidence suddenly flowing through his veins and clinging onto it like a lifeline, he spoke into the stilted silence, “I’m in love with ya, Omi.”

It was almost comical, the way Kiyoomi froze.

And freeze Kiyoomi did, because did Atsumu just say he was in love with him? He stared at Atsumu. “What.”

The bastard had the gall to cross one leg over the other, arms draped over the back of his couch as he smirked up at Kiyoomi. “Ya heard me.”

Kiyoomi glared. “Maybe I need you to repeat so I can actually process it.” He grinned viciously. “You tend to say a lot of stupid shit, so it’s become reflex to just let it fly right over my head.”

Atsumu spluttered for a moment, scoffing and turning his nose up haughtily. “ Rude , Omi-kun. Here I am professin’ m’love to ya and yer insultin’ me.”

Okay, so Kiyoomi wasn’t manifesting his fantasies into reality. “Say it again,” he breathed, taking a subconscious step closer.

Atsumu’s Cheshire grinned widened, arrogant bastard, and he tilted his head. “Say what again? Don’t ya think it’s a little unfair that I’m pourin’ my heart out here to ya but ya haven’t really responded to my confession? That took a lot of courage, ya know.”

“You asshole,” Kiyoomi replied, the impulse to insult an automatic one acted upon immediately. “You didn’t even say anything besides... besides...”

“‘M waitin, Omi,” Atsumu merely crooned. Yeah, he was sure now. There was nothing to worry about. They’d continue to play this cat and mouse game, because that’s how he and Kiyoomi were, but at the end of the day, he was sure they were both in love with each other (not like their love expert best friends had been telling them that or anything), which meant he could be as confident as he wanted. “I’m not sayin’ it again until ya say it, too.”

Kiyoomi scowled, reminded of why he both simultaneously loved and hated Atsumu. Well, two could play. He approached, standing above the idol and forcing the blonde to look up at him. 

“You,” Kiyoomi started, jabbing Atsumu in the shoulder, “are a piece of shit.” He uncrossed Atsumu’s legs. “You’re arrogant and annoying and don’t know how to shut the fuck up.” He sat himself on Atsumu’s lap. Atsumu was watching him closely with interest and amusement. “You’re a selfish brat.” He took Atsumu’s hands and placed them on his hips. “You’re stupidly hot and talented.” He scooted up as far as he could, pressing their bodies together. Atsumu was biting his lip, grinning in anticipation. “And I’m utterly in love with you,” Kiyoomi finished, taking Atsumu’s chin in his grip and bringing their lips together.

There was only a moment’s pause, one small second in which Atsumu took the time to collect himself and realize  holy shit this was really happening , before he was kissing Kiyoomi back, grip tightening on his hips. 

Kiyoomi sighed happily as he melted against him, heart racing with excitement because  _Atsumu was kissing him back_ and he had wondered for so long what it would feel like to be in this position, where so many other bodies had been in flashy night clubs, except this wasn’t hot and sensual and anonymous, but warm and a release of feelings inside a  home , and Atsumu was in love with him just as he was with Atsumu and—

They both pulled away at the same time. Atsumu flashed him his signature lopsided grin. “Yer confession was better than mine, and I can’t let ya one up me, so I’ll make the next move. Whaddya say, Omi-Omi? Be mine?”

Kiyoomi couldn’t think of anything better. “Yeah, Miya, I’ll be yours.”

⤠ 𝑎 𝑓𝑒𝑤 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑡ℎ𝑠 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟 ⤟

Atsumu’s phone chimed with an incoming call from Kita.

“Now you’ve done it,” Kiyoomi snorted from where he was cuddled in Atsumu’s arms on the couch. 

“Shut up,” Atsumu grumbled, hitting the green icon on his screen. Immediately, Kita’s very unamused face popped up. Atsumu smiled innocently. “What’s up Kita-san?”

Kita eyed Kiyoomi and Atsumu, less than impressed. “Sakusa, I expected better from ya. Atsumu, disappointed but not surprised. Ya have an interview tomorrow at 3 now ta explain yer most recent stunt. Sakusa, yer goin’ on, too. Congratulations on the relationship, it was about time the two of ya stopped dancin’ around yer feelin’s.” And with that, he hung up.

Kiyoomi and Atsumu both blinked at the latter’s phone screen, which had yet to turn off thanks to the constant dings from notifications on “his latest stunt”.

After the confessions, they had taken things slow, Atsumu wanting to prove to Kiyoomi that he had nothing to worry about and that Atsumu’s fame wouldn’t affect their relationship, not to mention Kiyoomi needed some time to prepare for being thrusted into the spotlight. He already got some media coverage, after all he was Atsumu’s hot bodyguard, but officially coming out as in a relationship together? That would be a whole different level of paparazzi, and this time the cameras and mics would be directed at Kiyoomi, too. 

Plus, Atsumu wanted to cherish Kiyoomi. Show him how much he had fallen for him. The idiot had reasoned that since Kiyoomi had fallen first, Atsumu should make it up by showing all the ways he loved Kiyoomi. And boy did he. They took their sweet time, with gentle kisses and tentative touches that eventually turned exploratory and finally hot and lustful. They kept their status secret, only letting slip small, insignificant displays of affection for people to speculate but not quite discern for certain. 

Iwaizumi and Oikawa were the only ones who knew, and they were perfect at keeping quiet about it.

That was, until this morning. Kiyoomi had woken up in Atsumu’s arms, body sore from a night of experimenting and touching, his lover running careful hands through Kiyoomi’s curls as he waited for Kiyoomi to wake up. And when Kiyoomi’s eyes fluttered open, Atsumu leaned in, pressing fluttering kisses to the twin moles above Kiyoomi’s eyebrows, pulling back with a smile and a reverent, “Mornin’ Omi-Omi.”

Kiyoomi replied with a good morning of his own and a tightening embrace around Atsumu’s waist.

And as they got up and prepared for a day lounging around Atsumu’s apartment in nothing but sweats, they had decided it was time. There wasn’t anything in particular that made them decide it, they just felt it was right.

And, of course, Atsumu with his flair for dramatics, wanted it to be a way that showed Kiyoomi off and really exclaimed  _hey, this sexy bitch is mine, boohoo you all lose_ . Kiyoomi had rolled his eyes but he was as whipped a bitch as he was a sexy one, and what was he gonna do, say no? Wrong.

So they posed in front of the mirror, Atsumu hugging Kiyoomi from behind, arms around the other’s torso, Kiyoomi himself slightly slouched since he was taller and looking utterly unimpressed while Atsumu stuck his tongue out and threw up a peace sign at the mirror and snapped a picture.

Now, a simple couple’s photo was nothing to gawk at. No, what Atsumu had insisted upon, was that they both take a picture just as they were after rolling out of bed, hair tousled and bodies littered with hickeys. Kiyoomi barely managed to convince his boyfriend to let them put sweatpants on at least, asking if he really wanted everyone to see things that should only be reserved for each other.

Atsumu had posted the picture, along with the caption “ _wild night with bae_ ” and the crazy-eye-tongue emoji and the thumb and pinkie extended emoji. Of course, it had immediately blown up, with variations of likes, reposts, congratulations from friends, and so many more comments.

“Ya know, I don’t think I need m’phone today.” Atsumu mused as he turned the device off and tossed it aside, pulling Kiyoomi closer. “If anyone needs me they know they can just call ya. In the meantime, today’s an Omi-Omi day. Love ya, Omi.”

Kiyoomi just sighed and shook his head, burying further against his boyfriend. 

Miya Atsumu was a brat. But, Kiyoomi supposed he was a lovable brat, at least. 


End file.
